The Sixth Sense
by pawpad
Summary: The last in my senses steries.


Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own them.

Note: Sorry it's been so long, I've have computer and Internet troubles recently, but here it is the last in the series.

The Sixth Sense

There's something wrong.

I don't know where that thought came from but I can't seem to ignore it.

I can't even say what exactly is wrong, but as I stand here at the hot dog vender catching a quick bite to eat I just sense that something is wrong.

There's nothing going on in the street, at least nothing I can see or hear and the hot dog looks safe and tastes all right, so it's not that.

My senses can't tell me what's wrong so I suppose I have little options. I just have to ignore it, but it's not a feeling I can easily let go. It's similar to the feeling a person gets when they know they're being followed, you shouldn't be able to tell, but something, maybe intuition warns you.

I finish off my hot dog and slid behind the wheel of my car. I need to get back to the office and finish typing up those statements. I start the car up and head off.

It's not until I drive passed The Pits that I become aware that I'm driving in the wrong direction. Without realising it I've driven half way to memorial hospital. I don't plan to visit Starsky until after my shift, but with that thought in mind my foot presses down on the accelerator.

There's something wrong at the hospital. There's no way I should know that for sure, but something inside me is telling me other wise. Call it intuition or a gut feeling, or Hell, even ESP, but which ever it is it's telling me I need to get to Memorial.

I park haphazardly in a space and jog up to the entrance. I shouldn't be in a hurry, I don't even know for sure if there's anything wrong, but my feet don't seem to get the message.

I take the elevator up to the right floor and as I come out I nearly run down a doctor.

"I'm sorry, I was…" he stops when he looks up and we both recognise each other. He's Starsky's doctor. "Ken, I was just about to call you."

Something's wrong, I knew it.

"Starsky?" I can't think of any other reason he'd call me, but my minds not thinking so straight right now.

"Yes, it appears he's come down with pneumonia. We've caught it quite early so I'm hopeful it won't get too serious, but we can't take any risks. He's developed a fever. If it gets too high we'll have to move him to ICU, but we're fighting it with strong antibiotics."

Despite his optimistic mood I don't want to stand here listening to him talk any longer, I need to be with Starsky. I can't stand the fact that he's been getting sick and I haven't been there for him.

I gently push pass the doctor and head into Starsky's room. I haven't seen him look this bad since he first got out of ICU. Even when he got sick he didn't need the nasal cannula.

He looks so frail and he's wheezing worse than when my cousin started smoking. I stand next to him, take his hand in mine and feel how clammy his skin is. My touch wakes him up.

"That was quick," He says around a brief coughing fit.

"With that rattle in your chest I could have heard you in the north pole." His smile is barely noticeable, but I can tell by his eyes that he's amused.

"I'll try to keep it down." He manages a better smile; one I know is mirrored on my own face. "How did you know?"

I don't know how to reply to that. I suppose in a way I don't need to.

We've always managed silent communication while working on the streets, so in a way I suppose it's only logical that whatever drove me hear is part of that connection.

All I'm doing now is looking into Starsky's eyes and he knows. He doesn't need to say anything; just the look of recognition in his eyes is enough.

A sixth sense, I haven't always believed in it, but if I had to choose to have one of my senses enhanced, it would be this. Speaking as a cop that might sound crazy, but it was this sense that told me something was wrong with Starsky without any help from the well known five.

This is the sense that keeps us in tune.

"You should rest." I say, running a hand over his sweaty forehead. I don't need to tell him this, but as much as I value this sixth sense, nothing beats a soothing gesture or a calming word.

The End


End file.
